


A Remarkable Synchronicity of Minds and Hearts

by MyRubicon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 16:02:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17769896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyRubicon/pseuds/MyRubicon
Summary: Mycroft has put quite a bit of thought into how to spend a perfect Valentine's Day with his partner. So has Greg.





	A Remarkable Synchronicity of Minds and Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Just poking a bit of fun at Valentine's Day, combined with some light-hearted fluff.  
> Romance is in the eye of the beholder; every couple can do whatever they enjoy, and in London, the possibilities are almost literally endless. If the couple in question is lucky, both halves even enjoy the same things...

Mycroft rolled his eyes at himself. He did that extremely rarely and only ever if he was completely unobserved. Mostly, though, he simply had no reason for that strange and undignified sort of behaviour. Not that he was quite as dignified in every aspect of his life any more as he had been only a year before. Considering how much richer, fuller and happier his life had become, though, an occasional loss of dignity did not even factor in the equation beyond a tiny, fairly negligible number. The reason lay in the fact that the value of dignity, the weight he accorded to this variable, was another thing that had undergone a major change where Mycroft Holmes was concerned. While he was working, this change would remain entirely unobserved, because maintaining his carefully cultivated Iceman persona had its own importance. Most of the bureaucrats that populated the corridors of Whitehall were in fact entirely unaware of the fact that it was a façade, a shield, a mantle to be donned where it was useful and necessary.

It still was that. He could still be charmingly or chillingly polite, amusing, intimidating or subtly disconcerting, and neither his brilliance nor his competency had ever been feigned. He was still able to comprehend incredibly complex reams of data in the blink of an eye and calculate their implications for the present and future, more steps ahead than any chess grand master. He would still make difficult, morally ambiguous choices for the sake of Queen and country, would still scheme and plan and implement deep games that sometimes took years or even decades to mature. In his workplace, he showed little pity for human weaknesses and no tolerance for avoidable mistakes.

In his private life, though, he was now able to put the Iceman aside and simply be himself.

Admittedly, that had felt rather strange in the beginning; at the starting point, he had barely known who he truly was any more behind the cool mask he wore so successfully every day. It had taken himself a quite a while to find out, aided and assisted by a man whose kindness and warmth had thawed his partner's permafrost with frightening ease and who had greeted every new discovery about the man Mycroft really was not only with tolerance but with unrestrained joy.

And that was why Mycroft was now both smiling and rolling his eyes at himself.

Valentine's Day, honestly. It was hopelessly commercialised, overdone to the point of execrable taste and an excuse to make paired-up people feel impossibly smug and single persons horridly inadequate. Both, the buying of useless, expensive gifts to fulfil society's and one's partner's vapid expectations and the buying of useless, expensive things to compensate for the perceived loneliness, were significant economic factors. Thus, Valentine's Day certainly had its own importance that was nothing one ought to sneeze, or roll one's eyes, at.

This was the first time in his entire life, though, the full forty-six years of them, that Mycroft Holmes had ever regarded the upcoming holiday with a sense of sentimentality.

And it was all Gregory's fault, the evil, dear, beloved man.

So, sentimentality and romance it was.

 

When in doubt, Mycroft had always found research helpful. Half an hour of reviewing relevant internet sites, however, left him feeling strangely disappointed. Those suggestions were all so... banal. Yes, certainly, he could invite his dearheart to a tea at Claridge's, but honestly, he was a forty-eight-year-old man and not a blushing débutante with social-climbing ambitions. Though Mycroft had, on occasion, managed to make Gregory blush in an entirely too enticing way...

And that line of thought was not conductive in the least to his current occupation.

A day at a spa? Mildly amusing for Gregory at best, and that only because the delightful man had such a pronounced sense of humour and the absurd.

A visit of one of London's numerous exquisite gardens? A lovely idea, for certain, but not on a day where half of the city's population plus the non-negligible factor of all those tourists looking for a romantic experience in Britain's capital were trampling through them. Besides, the gardens were lovelier in late spring... and summer... and autumn... and in winter when there was actual snow and not just grey, chilly rain... so basically at any other time of year.

Champagne on the London Eye? Seriously? There was even a “cupid capsule”. Mycroft was rather certain that the term for that would be “naff”. He shuddered and quickly clicked the page away.

A romantic dinner cruise? Insipid and bourgeois, and that only covered the other dinner guests and didn't even take into account the food and surroundings. Worst of all, there was no means of making a timely exit if things got too horrid, short of an emergency extraction by helicopter. Although Gregory _might_ enjoy the helicopter flight...

Whisky tasting? Not a bad idea at all. The place seemed interesting, too, not overly stylish and modern but rather quirky, old-fashioned. The basement was described as “dinky”, which was not per se encouraging, but Gregory would find that charming, and besides, the shop offered a truly inspiring range of excellent whiskies. No need to wait with that until Valentine's, though, when the place would probably be overrun by eager couples. Mycroft cheerfully bookmarked the page; certainly, on a less popular date for outings, a more private taste-testing could be arranged.

Watching a rom-coms at one of the numerous cinemas. Rom-coms! Didn't they even have the decency to finish their words any more? Also, both the locations – mostly uninspired to outright unappealing – and the films on offer – soppy and, what was that term again, oh yes, cheesy – were hopeless, really. A nice film that they both enjoyed wouldn't be objectionable, though.

A cocktail bar that had no commonly known drinks on the menu but utilised pickles and dried insects in their creations. How... novel. On second thought, it seemed like just the thing that Sherlock might gleefully enjoy, but Dr Watson not so much, except if it were possibly dangerous. Tongue quite firmly in cheek, he fired off a quick mail with the link to his brother.

Ugh, and a plethora of so-called chic restaurants that would doubtlessly be hopelessly overbooked, loud and offer food of dubious quality. No, those would not do; Gregory only deserved the best.

Mycroft did know his way around London's most elite gourmet temples, some of them so exclusive that they would never even appear on the internet sites he was browsing with mounting disgust and despair, but there was nothing less conductive to a romantic evening _à deux_ than being constantly greeted by work acquaintances, and the atmosphere wouldn't be at all relaxing for dear Gregory, either. He didn't mind formal on occasion, and he did, as a matter of fact, look positively delectable in a dinner suit, but all that rampant pretentiousness would be a danger to both his enjoyment and his appetite, which would, of course, counteract any value the excellent food might contribute to their evening.

What else was there? Making their own bouquet? That would surely get a laugh out of the dear man, and his good nature would compel him to go along with it if he thought it was something that Mycroft enjoyed. Which was, unfortunately, bloody unlikely.

Fringe theatre? That might be interesting and amusing. It might also turn out dull and horrid. Too much of a risk without proper reconnaissance.

Oh. Making their own chocolates. That did have a certain appeal, but not in a sterile kitchen under the supervision of a confectioner. That would rather ruin the more obvious enjoyment and pleasure to be had from warm chocolate as a couple. Definitely save that idea for later in the evening...

Watching other people perform the tango? He'd rather dance a spirited one with Gregory himself, and maybe a sensual rumba. Well, there was another idea to save.

 

So, what elements had he accumulated so far?

Good food, but better have that in a relaxed, intimate atmosphere far away from the masses. Perhaps a nice film, something pithy and amusing, along the lines of His Girl Friday, maybe. Passionate dancing, the more private – and, again, intimate – the location, the better. Gregory in a dinner suit would be a bonus, and one he would certainly be able to claim if he wore a dinner suit himself, which Gregory seemed to find substantial delight in, a delight that was only dwarfed by getting him out of said dinner suit. Since Mycroft was hardly opposed to that idea, he firmly put it down on his preliminary plan. And then, perhaps, some pleasurable experimentation with warm, rich, molten chocolate fondue.

Now he only needed to find and book the perfect location, and rather quickly, too. After all, he was inexcusably tardy and there was less than half a year left until Valentine's Day.

 

Nearly half a year later...

 

Mycroft woke up to the smell of excellent tea and freshly baked scones, and he opened his eyes with a smile.

There was Gregory, his thick, silver hair still adorably tousled but his dark eyes alert and, most of all, filled with love.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” he said with that boyish smile of his that Mycroft adored.

“Good morning, dearheart,” Mycroft replied, his usually so smooth tenor still somewhat husky with sleep.

Usually, the younger man didn't approve of breakfast in bed, but certainly, this was an exception. Everything was nicely arranged on a tray large enough to forestall that most uncomfortable of consequences, crumbs in bed, which could be rather detrimental to any romantic exploits to follow. Gregory had chosen the good china and linen napkins; there even was a small vase with a rosebud in it.

“Thank you for arranging the day off for me, love,” Gregory said as he carefully placed the tray, dropped his dressing gown – a most inspiring view – and slid into bed again.

Mycroft, meanwhile, had sat up and arranged their pillows against the headboard. Leaning back and with a patently innocent look, he replied, “I have no idea what you're speaking of, my dear.”

Mirth sparkled in those dark eyes as the older man drily replied, “Of course not, love. The Super decided to be that generous all by himself, and his expression was simply due to constipation.”

Mycroft innocently suggested, “The poor man ought to eat more vegetables.”

“Clearly,” Gregory drily replied, and gave his love a fond kiss on the cheek.

The tea was perfectly brewed and the scones, freshly baked, were delicious. Gregory had even included fresh strawberries, lovely, aromatic ones that were quite difficult to get a hold of in February where most strawberries were pale greenhouse ones.

“You spoil me,” Mycroft happily commented as he accepted a bite from his love's hands.

Gregory smiled at him happily. “You know, love,” he said, “I just wanted to return the favour for once. We both have demanding jobs, but you still always manage to make time for me, and you always have such wonderful ideas to spoil me.”

Gregory, it had turned out, appreciated the small things, but sometimes a grander gesture wouldn't be taken amiss. Of the ideas that Mycroft had amassed half a year ago, he had actually put some already in action, like the whisky tasting, which had been a great success, and visits of the lovely but more obscure gardens that studded London like discreet pearls. Once, he'd even arranged an after-hour visit to the British Museum, but that had been the only occasion he'd had to use his special connections for.

Gregory had reciprocated, inviting Mycroft to hidden gems of restaurants that were less pretentious than the places he frequented for work but could easily rival the quality of the food, or taking him to an classic car and motoring event or to the observatory to watch the stars.

They had already danced together, in public and in private, several times in fact, and attended quite a few theatre performances, both fringe and traditional. Some of them had been good, others so horrid that they had nearly laughed themselves silly. It was that lightness and joy that Gregory brought to his life that Mycroft prized above all.

 

Perhaps, he thought now, he should have held some more of his ideas in reserve for this magnificent man, because his plans for Valentine's Day now didn't seem very much out of the ordinary. And perhaps he currently should be listening what Gregory was saying.

“... London Eye. Can you believe it?” he asked with that lovely mischievous smile of his.

Oh. Answer required. Rewind. DI Hopkins was taking DI Donovan to the London Eye for their Valentine's date, and Gregory seemed rather amused about that.

“To each their own,” Mycroft diplomatically replied.

Gregory laughed. “Yes, even if it's hopelessly naff. And poor Dimmock's wife is dragging him to Kew Gardens first and then to some floral workshop, because he forgot to buy her flowers three years running.”

“We are in absolute agreement about the Millennium Wheel. But don't you enjoy Kew Gardens, my dear?” Mycroft asked.

“Of course I do, love,” Gregory cheerfully agreed, “but not with half of London trampling through. Besides, there are more lovely times of year to enjoy it than the middle of February. Even though the most wonderful and enjoyable sight all year round are, of course, you.”

He said it so matter-of-factly that it didn't even seem to be a compliment, and yet it made Mycroft's heart expanded happily.

“The same goes for most restaurants, really,” Gregory added with a small sigh. “I've been looking for the perfect place to book for tonight, and then I realised that they all would be overrun, every last one of them. And then I thought, what would make this day, this evening romantic? And that would be us, love, the two of us together, never mind where, never mind how.”

He was looking intently into Mycroft's eyes now, who suddenly found himself holding his breath.

“And then I thought,” Gregory went on, a little uncertainly, “sod the restaurants and the theatres and all the other public places. I hope you don't mind?”

Mycroft lifted his hand to cup that expressive face, and then he smiled, a true, radiant smile. “Not in the least, my dear,” he said.

Gregory exhaled, flooded with relief and joy. “I didn't want you to think it's because I don't care enough to make reservations, gorgeous.”

“I know, my heart,” Mycroft replied, smiling. “You've made me this delicious breakfast, after all. And you know me so well. I don't really enjoy being out in too much of a crowd, and it was kind of you to take that into account. I must confess that neither have I made any dinner reservations, but I did make provisions to have the viewing room made ready and an excellent dinner delivered for the two of us this evening, my dear.”

Gregory beamed at him. “Perfect. Otherwise, I would have cooked for you, but those ingredients will keep until the weekend. And we'll pick a good film, not one of those extremely cheesy rom-coms they're showing everywhere today.”

Mycroft nodded emphatically. “And again, we are in perfect accord, my dear. I have also taken the liberty of acquiring some lovely music well-suited for dancing.”

“You wonderful, wonderful man,” Gregory happily replied. “And I have just the perfect thing for dessert, or maybe a little later. I don't want to spoil the surprise, though.”

“Does it have anything to do with chocolate?” Mycroft hopefully asked. “Chocolate fondue, perhaps? Because incidentally, I've recently acquired a small chocolate fountain that would fit quite nicely over here.”

“You, Mycroft Holmes,” Gregory firmly replied, “are the most amazing, brilliant man, and I love you.”

“And I you. But I'd still greatly enjoy you wearing a dinner suit, at least for the initial parts of this evening, my dear.”

“Only if you wear one as well, love. The midnight blue one from Gieves & Hawkes that brings out your long, long legs and your amazing arse.”

“Done.”

Their smiles turning equally predatory, they carefully put the breakfast tray aside and then returned to bed, Greg carrying the fresh strawberries and Mycroft the small bowl of cream. There was, after all, no reason not to start celebrating the perfect Valentine's Day right away.

 

~ Fin ~

 


End file.
